The Best
by girlcalledsun
Summary: An AU; circumstances force King Roald to allow girls to train for their Knighthood. Delia and Alanna reminisce on their careers so far.


The two knight sat in the comfortable winged chairs, facing the banked and glowing fire.

"So," the small red headed knight started.

"So, indeed," the dark haired knight opposite swirled the brandy in the glass, admiring the how the firelight was caught in the engraving, how it danced there. "To what shall we toast?"

The red headed knight shrugged, eloquently, in reply.

"How about a secret toast - silent - each drinker has their own wish." A perfect dark eyebrow raised in query.

"Sounds good." The smaller figure threw off the brandy, red hair flashing almost as brightly as the cut crystal in the fire's glow. The taller, dark knight sipped gently.

"And that's it," the small red headed knight commented.

"That's it." The dark haired knight sipped again.

"Ha." It wasn't so much a laugh, as punctuation. The glass clicked heavily on the slate fireplace, and the red headed knight reached for the bottle. "Fine brandy, Delia."

"Only the best for us, Alanna." Lady Knight Delia of Eldorne's lips curved into a lopsided smile. "Always the best."

Alanna the Lioness smiled a sort of smile. "The best."

*

"What in the name of Mithros and the Goddess is going to be done?" Duke Gareth strode back and forth across the fine carpet, only ever managing three or four of his rangy strides before he had to wheel and retrace his journey. The argument had been going back and forth in much the same fashion for the last half hour or so.

"There is no precedent for this," Sir Myles of Olau repeated, "there has been no disaster, no massive war, but a combination of events. The death of many knights fighting with King Jasson as he extended the Kingdom," he nodded to King Roald, "the famine of a decade ago, the sickness that caused barrenness in so many women a few years before that…" Myles paused.

"It has all added up," Duke Baird, Tortall's Chief Healer, continued. "Fewer husbands and fathers, women who were affected by a sickness that diminished their fertility, and a famine that sapped their strength."

"But babes were born," Roald stated. "The noble births were registered, as Law demands." He fingered a ledger, as if for reassurance.

"Not enough," Duke Gareth supplied. "Only two boys entered Page training this year, and it will get worse. In ten years there will be almost no new Knights, and little chance of many more for a generation."

"I plan no wars. Is there a way we can do without?" Roald enquired, worried eyes flicking from one advisor to another.

"We need Knights. For defence, for leadership. War or no," Gareth stated.

The room fell silent, but for Duke Gareth's pacing. Myles sipped his wine, and decided there was little enough to lose.

"I have been doing some research," he began diffidently, fingers on the stem of his goblet, eyes on his papers, "into the historical nature of Tortall's military and chivalric structure. There is precedent; in the past, every fighter was needed, every sword, every hand. Male and female." Myles lifted his eyes to his King.

"Lady Knights! Those are tales from your history books!" Gareth snapped.

"There is verification." Myles tapped a large, calf bound book with his fore finger. "Lady Knights existed."

"Not for hundreds of years!" Gareth rounded on Baird. "What do you think of this?"

"I wonder if we even have a choice. There are female Healers, Mages - why not Knights?"

"Why not indeed?" Myles echoed.

They all looked at King Roald. "I need Knights of Tortall. It seems I may have to use what resources are to hand. Meagre as they might be."

And that was how it was decided.

*

"Do you remember out first day?" Alanna asked, sipped from her refreshed glass.

"I hated you on sight. Your family may be in the Book of Gold, but you _looked_ as if you came from a pigsty. Acted like it, too."

"What about you? With your jewelled hair pins and your nose in the air? Couldn't stand your airs and graces." Alanna sat back down in her chair, resting her forearms on her knees.

"We didn't all choose to enter Knight training. I was forced - my family had always provided sons for the service of the Crown. But they only had me. How they had wished I was a boy." Delia scowled slightly. "I hated them, too. My family."

"Is that why you didn't go home?" Alanna wondered. "Cythera did, so did a few other girls."

"Oh, no. I had decided, damn them all. I was going to be the best Knight, so I wouldn't need any of them ever again."

"I wanted to be the best Knight I could be, too."

"Oh no, I never just wanted to be the best Knight I could be. I had to be the best Knight _anyone _could ever be." Delia took a rather larger sip of brandy.

"Think you are?" Alanna asked lightly. "After today, perhaps?"

"After today? I think I might be getting there."

There was silence but for the violent pop of a knot in the firewood.

*

"Faster, Trebond!" Sklaw bellowed, "You should have gone to the convent if all you wanted to do was dance!"

The sweat ran down Alanna's forehead, and she gritted her teeth in determination.

"And, you, Eldorne, put some effort behind those passes, unless you want to tickle your enemy to death!"

Delia's pale face was burning red, although it was hard to tell if it was with effort or fury.

"Your Grace surely cannot expect competent swords_man_ship from girls," Sklaw said to Duke Gareth, who was observing the fencing drill. His tone was equal parts exasperation, pleading, frustration and annoyance.

"If it can be done, you are the man to do it," Duke Gareth said quietly, as he observed the small - pitifully small - group of pages. There were the two girls, Trebond and Eldorne, of course, and four boys - Alex of Tirragen, Raoul of Goldenlake, the Duke's own son, Gareth the Younger, and Prince Jonathon. His eye narrowed as he studied them all. "I would like to see the Pages in a free fight, I think," he said quietly.

"And there was me thinking we were short of Pages," Armsman Sklaw muttered, "but we must have enough to spare. Are you quite sure, Your Grace?" he added in a louder voice.

"Quite sure. Have them pair up, please."

Sklaw shook his head. "Right, Eldorne, Tirragen, you're the two least likely to kill each other on accident. Free fight!" He scowled down at the pages. "Now, children, before I die of old age. Guard!"

Delia raised her sword arm, already aching from the drill Sklaw had put them through, and faced Alex. The boy was the same height as her, and not much heavier, but he was two years older and the best of the pages with the sword. She bit her lips to keep them from trembling, and her nostrils flared as she inhaled deeply. _Here, in front of Duke Gareth, _she thought, _this is my chance… _

…and the swords clashed together. A smile lit Alex's lips as he pushed Delia back, using a complex attack pattern, long sweeping passes which showed the balance and poise the boy commanded. Delia blocked neatly, concentration on her face obvious to the watching men.

"Tirragen is the most skilled of the bunch, Your Grace," Sklaw muttered.

"Hmm," Duke Gareth breathed.

The other pages were watching just as carefully. Alanna was chewing on her lip, frowning in concentration, fists clenched, whilst Gary and Raoul whispered in each other's ears. The Prince was standing quite still, but his eyes were intent upon the fighters.

Delia stepped back carefully, retreating from Alex's precise blows. _One more,_ she thought, and she took a particularly long step back. Alex, eyes glowing, confident, leaned after her, stretching to make the pass….leaving his left side open. Delia lunged, fast as snake, swinging her body down and round, and her blade up and against Alex's throat.

"Yield," she hissed, her lips the only break in the motionless tableau made by her and Alex's bodies.

"You were saying, Armsman Sklaw?" Duke Gareth asked dryly.

*

"You were always such a natural with the sword," Alanna said. "I got there in the end, by sheer bloody minded determination, practising every hour the Gods sent, but you had such a sense of it, even from day one."

"I was well enough with the sword, but it was people I was good at. I could always read my opponent; second guess them."

"Your feints are taught in all the fencing classes, you know."

"I know. The Eldorne Pass. Makes me sound like a card game."

Alanna chuckled.

"But that's not all of it," Delia continued. "Not just fighting. In all things. If my adversary doesn't know what I intend, or can be made believe the opposite, well, that just makes my life easier."

"You always had men wrapped round your little finger," Alanna commented, lifting her violet eyes to Delia.

"Not always." Delia sipped her brandy.

*

"I am minded to take Eldorne as a squire," Duke Roger commented, mildly, as he took lunch with his King. Roald almost choked on his wine.

"That may not be quite proper, Roger," he commented, regaining his composure.

"In what way? I am a Knight - if not actively in combat - and she is a squire." He raised one of his eyebrows and tilted his head in innocent query.

"A fourteen year old girl? To answer to you, attend on you? There is enough talk about the girls as it is. I hoped older Knights, married Knights, would take them on. Not that I do not trust you - quite the opposite - but gossip is powerful stuff."

"There would be nothing to gossip about. And she is about as fine a hand with a sword as we've seen this past few years - I doubt she could be inconvenienced in any practical way."

Roald studied his nephew's face. It was calm, bland, honest, and the gaze from his blue eyes was clear and level.

"I am working hard to make my place in your Kingdom, Roald. For the Realm, and you. Surely the best squire will ease this task?" Roger smiled again.

Roald chewed his lip. "The look of the thing, Roger…"

"You opened the Knighthood to women. Surely this was considered beforehand?"

"Have you asked Eldorne?"

"Not yet, in matter of fact. You think - no, you hope! - she would refuse me." Roger chuckled. "I will ask. She can make her own choice."

*

"I never quite figured out why you didn't want to be Roger's squire," Alanna mused. She swirled her brandy in her glass and gazed at Delia, purple eyes astute.

"Now, Alanna. You always had the measure of the Conte Duke."

"No. I always had an irrational dislike of him. You always had reasons - for all things. Why didn't you wish to be his squire?"

"He would have used me up and spat me out; just another way of furthering his ambition."

*

"Squire," Roger smiled at Delia. He was sprawled behind his desk, jewelled wizard's rod twirling between his graceful fingers. "I believe I know why you are here. Do take a seat." He gestured expansively, and the rod seemed to trail multicoloured streamers or light behind it.

"Your Grace," Delia sat carefully on the chair indicated. She felt the beginnings of a headache begin to drill her temples, when there had been nothing half a minute before.

"Well, young lady?" Roger smiled. He was still fiddling with the rod. "Have you an answer for me?"

"Yes, your Grace…" Delia began, and paused. She could see flashing lights in front of her eyes…behind her eyes? She blinked hard.

"You will be my Squire! Capital! Of course I knew you wouldn't refuse, but good to be sure." He put the jewelled rod down on the table with a solid click, and all of a sudden Delia's head cleared.

_The devious snake. He was spelling me with that damned rod._

Delia bit the inside of her cheek, hard, until she tasted blood. The pain made her nerves shrill; that and the salt taste of her own blood cleared the last of the magic from her head.

"Your Grace, I meant, yes, I have an answer for you," she stated, voice dead level, looking up at the smiling Duke. He raised his eyebrows benevolently.

"My answer is no, I will not be your Squire. I do not believe the arrangement would be mutually advantageous."

Roger's face sharpened, his benign patrician mask slipping. "What do you mean?" he hissed, grasping for his wizard's rod.

Delia's hand shot out and knocked the rod tumbling from the table. She leaned down, fury and terror coursing through her body. "I will not be your pawn," she said, slowly, and clearly. Her mouth worked for a second, before spitting hard on the desk in front of him, her blood tinged saliva clotting on the fine polished wood.

As she stalked out the door, every second expecting a knife or a spell in her back, Delia felt tears brim in her eyes. No-one, but no-one, manipulated Delia of Eldorne. She was in control; no could see her cry as she left the Duke's rooms, because tears were a weakness she didn't allow herself.

All control begins with the self.

*

"I did well with old Duke Gareth as Knight Master, though," Delia smiled. "I learned a lot, made many contacts. The old Conservatives, well, I was one of them, damn shame I was a girl, but right thinking, what?"

"You do the accent well," Alanna grinned.

"Not nearly as exciting as your time with Jon, of course," Delia drawled, "but educational, in other ways. Why, Alanna, dear, you are a little flushed."

"I just put a fresh log on the fire," Alanna growled, "it's hot."

"You have always been a dreadful liar, Alanna. You have to master your emotions, not let them show. I have to say you are improving, though - you couldn't have done a year ago what you did today."

"All control begins with the self, I know. Have you ever lost control?"

"Hmm. Apart from in battle?" Delia quirked a lopsided smile.

Alanna grinned.

"Only once." Delia's smile faded.

*

Delia gritted her teeth, or she would have screamed. She stood in the private Eldorne burial ground, looking at the freshest plot. It was marked with a simple wooden cross, in stark contrast to the carved stone angels and looming monuments that gave the place its grim tone. There was a name scratched into the wood, not clear, but Delia had always had sharp eyes.

_Lady Delia of Eldorne._

And that was it. No dates, no titles, or accomplishments, not even a paltry, "beloved of". Here, she hadn't warranted a Knighthood, hadn't won any fame, or even a husband. She was no one, no one, just a pile of bones, back to the mud. Delia stuffed her had in her mouth, bit down hard.

If she wasn't in her Ordeal, she would have screamed.

If she hadn't been alone, she wouldn't have wept.

*

"Your Ordeal was the day before mine," Alanna remembered. "You watched my duel Duke Roger."

"Watched you kill him. I remember."

"Huh, if I killed him properly he would have stayed dead," Alanna swirled the brandy round her glass in annoyance.

"You did your best. Mithros only knows what a task it would be to keep him in his grave." Delia rubbed her eyes, and her bone weariness showed for a second.

"I know," Alanna replied in a low voice. She flexed her hands, bruises blooming and bold over her knuckles, staining the skin purple-brown-yellow.

*

The voices drifted up the stair well.

"…crazy, to want to play 'best squire' at a time like this." That was Alanna's voice, snapping with frustration.

"Think what you like." That was Alex. Delia heard the clang of swords, as she slunk down the stairs two at a time.

The next landing held a pair of Tirragen armsmen, attention fixed on a half open doorway. Delia clubbed them efficiently with her sword hilt, rendering both unconscious within seconds. She sneered lightly, because appearances must be maintained, before stepping over the slumped bodies and looking into the room. Alex stood, back to her and the open doorway, sword point held to the disarmed Alanna's throat.

"…you were good, I admit that. But I knew _I_ was…"

Alex went flying as Alanna kicked him in the gut. Delia's eye crinkled in appreciation, and she stepped through the door behind Alex as he staggered to his feet and lunged at Alanna. He came flying back again, courtesy of a Shang punch, and Delia neatly drew her blade across his throat as his body hit the floor.

"Hmm. I think you'll find _I_ am the best, Alex." Delia looked up. "Hello, Alanna."

"What the…?" Alanna grabbed Lightning from the ground. "You should be with Jon!"

"He sent me after you, told me to help." Delia wiped her sword clean on Alex's cloak.

"I had it covered," Alanna drew some deep breaths, and frowned at Alex - Alex's body - in a growing pool of his own claret red blood. She coughed and swallowed hard before striding, pale faced, out of the door. Delia followed, understanding, coiling her own emotions away; she would think about the killing, the blood, the nausea and heart sick guilt later.

The two Lady Knights made their way into the catacombs. Duke Roger was there, clad in black silk and red magic, looking quite deranged. Alanna walked cautiously up to him, half listening to his ravings as she investigated the magic sigils etched on the ground. Delia followed, a few paces behind, eyes wary and blade raised.

"You, too!" Roger finally noticed Delia, "Eldorne, you chose the wrong side. You could have been with me, triumphant, above them all!" He began to murmur an incantation, calling Alanna's sword with voice and gesture. Lightning strained in Alanna's grasp, causing her to grimace with pain as she hung on, finger locked round the jewelled hilt.

"Like Alex?" Delia asked quietly. Roger's attention flickered for a moment, and a muscle in his face began to twitch. "Like you?"

"You can still change your mind!" he cried, and lifted his right hand to her. "Be my sword arm…"

Alanna's eyes flickered to Delia's, violet gaze meeting green for a second; then Alanna let go of the sword.

Lightning fairly flew, slicing into the Conte Duke's chest with barely a sound. Alanna stood and stared at he toppled, as the flames grew out of the gate to consume his body. She made no movement as the fiery column grew, ferocious and swift, so Delia had to make a dead leap from a standing start. She swiped the smaller women out of harm with the tips of her fingers before tumbling across the hard stone floor.

The Gate exploded half a second later.

*

"I wasn't quite sure, you know," Alanna said softly.

"Specifically about..?" Delia prompted.

"If you'd join Roger, when he asked."

"Really, Alanna. He was mad as a snake at the end. Why in the Goddess' name would I do that?" Delia seemed more exasperated by the possibility she was stupid, rather than treacherous.

"But, though. If he was going to take the Kingdom, would you have joined him? Be his sword arm, like he asked? The first Knight of Tortall?"

"I am the first Knight of Tortall," Delia commented.

"Seriously."

"Seriously, Roger's Tortall? The unthinking weapon of an unbalanced, half dead sorcerer?" Delia gazed at the flames and held her body very still. "Who would know? Who would care? It wouldn't matter if I was the _best_," she whispered, half to herself, "because I would be the best of nothing." Delia looked up, suddenly. Her green eyes were very bright, framed by slim eyebrows and dark shadows. They caught the firelight, and Alanna couldn't look away. "You can't be the best in isolation, by yourself," Delia said urgently, "do you see? You have to be the best _of_ something, the best _at_, or _for_ something. So it matters. So _you _matter."

"You matter, Delia. Whatever you did, or will do, you are a person and you matter, in your own right. It took me a while to work that out, a lot of places and a few people on the way, but it's true."

"Humph," Delia commented, and took a few deep breaths. She picked up the brandy bottle and topped up their glasses. "I amend the toast, then." She passed Alanna back her glass.

"Secret toast again?"

"No," and then Delia smiled, a real, rare smile that reached her eyes. "The best of the best."

Alanna smiled back.


End file.
